


where we gonna land

by Jolly Camaleonte (ginnyx)



Category: Metallica
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnyx/pseuds/Jolly%20Camaleonte
Summary: This time around, Lars and James meet for the first time in a pub... but it's not 1981.It's 2012, Lars is 22, James is 48 anddefinitelyLars' type.They end up with more than they bargained for.
Relationships: James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	where we gonna land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/gifts).



> **Written as a gift for inkk, as part of 2020's Ficmas in July a special Ficmas edition run to celebrate Rockfic's 16th anniversary. The prompt was 'James Hetfield,Lars Ulrich (Metallica): Older (TTN-era?) James and younger (MOP-era?) Lars... Lars is twenty-two and has a thing for older guys; James is forty-eight and has no qualms about giving Lars what he wants. Gratuitous smut encouraged..'**  
>  Hey there, wisher! Maybe it's not exactly what you envisioned, but I hope you'll enjoy the ride. This story is a bit peculiar, but I had a blast writing it (especially making Lars a 22 something in 2012 and let him use a more modern slang, lol).

"Excuse me, I’m gonna—"

And here he goes.

Jerry smirks in his beer and watches his friend getting up from the table and plunging himself forward, at the target of the night.

You see, Lars is one of the most extroverted people on planet Earth, and every time they go to a pub, he ends up leaving with more friends that he had coming in.

Well, that or he finds a suitable _interest_ for the night, proceeding to talk ear their off in the hope of a new contact on his phone, or maybe an offer to be escorted home.

And the look he had just now? The way he stared over Jerry’ shoulder with aim and precision?

_Yeah, it’s the second option._

Jerry snorts and puts the glass down.

It’s time to hit the head anyway, so he plays a game.

Before he stands up and turns, he tries to predict who will be the target of the night.

_Let’s see if I can guess: tall, impossible long-legged girl with no bullshit attitude and sharp eyes… or just the right side of mature old man, kinda buff, with a bit of a temper but the promise of a sensitive heart?_

He scraps chair back, informing the others at the table that he will be back shortly, and he looks.

_Uh._

Okay, uh. Uhm, not exactly what Jerry expected but…

Well, the dude is definitely _older_ than them and buff, but _damn_ he is _big_ compared to Lars, and… heavily tattooed?

Jerry starts walking to the toilet and keeps seeing more tats.

Nothing wrong about it, the dude sure looks cool with them, but that’s not Lars usual taste.

He is watching them, while he waits in line, trying to assess the situation: he is not in the mood for a fist fight with a possible biker (there is a leather jacket on the chair, a lot of patches on it) just because Lars was so horny and didn’t see that his _avances_ where not appreciated. And the dude is fit, whoa, even for his age –he seems like 40?

But it looks… all right.

They are chatting, Lars is moving his hands like no tomorrow and the man is smirking while he replies. Wow, they are actually _talking_ to each other, not just Lars monologuing away.

To be honest— Jerry loves the guy, he is one of his best friends, but he has this tendency to… entertain? It took Jerry a while to understand: Lars actually loves listening to people and learning their stories –he is a really good listener— but you have to keep up with him, his miles a minute mind and his desire to let anyone be comfortable. So yeah, the standard Ulrich first experience is dazzling funny stories and big answer to little questions.

_Not this time, apparently._

They seem to have a good back and forth going. The old man is keeping up!

The bathroom door opens, and the typical _fragrance_ enthralls his nose.

Good, now he can piss without a trouble in the world.

~

The dude name was James and they fucked _three times_.

First one, right in front of the bathroom mirror, Lars’ hands sliding down the surface till his face got smushed against it; James thrusting into him, a litany of _look at you, look at you_ hot in his ear, till he gripped his hair and _made_ _him_ look.

Lars came right into the sink, and James stopped and held him while the other laughed at the situation, at the image, while wheezing for air.

He looked up, like the most natural thing in the world, at James’ eyes –reflected— silently, elatedly asking _see? see?_

James attempted to hide his own mirth; and that hint of shyness, that hint of connection, made Lars grin even more madly.

He sighed and slumped against the older man’ chest, silver and blond hairs confusing into each other, wet with effort.

Lars’ eyes were now closed, but James could feel the pure, smug bliss in his tone.

"Mh, bedroom? ‘Need twenty-six minutes."

James snorted and Lars felt the vibration in his own chest.

"Twenty-five minutes for what?"

"Twenty-six", Lars repeated pettishly, "for my asset down there to come back online."

James’ brows arched, amused, and he pushed a stray lock, wet with sweat, out of the other’ forehead.

"Oh _wow_ ", he drawled, "only twenty- _seven_ minutes? For an _asset_ like that? How will I keep up with the youth?" _._

Lars opened his eyes and pouted, giving him the stinky eye through the mirror.

Now James couldn’t help but laugh.

"You want me to suck you off till I’m ready to go again or not, asshole?"

_Ah, now: that’s an offer you couldn’t refuse._

"Get yourself on the bed, I’ll go grab a timer."

That led to the second time.

Lars had never been fucked for an hour and a half nonstop.

_(and hour and 26 minutes, to be precise, James learned that the Danish fucker found joy in odd, precise numbers –the freak)_

It felt so good and satisfying –bless older men and their experience.

Apart from the blowjob, Lars had basically rotated on that bed in every possible angle offered by physics.

Also, he has a working theory: James Hetfield, hot ass extraordinaire, has a bit of an oral fixation.

Well, ‘a bit’ maybe reductive, seen how much he enjoyed sticking his fingers inside Lars’ mouth –and keeping them there, asking him to _suck and suck and—_

Then pushing down on the back his teeth, leaving his jaw hanging, his breath quick and wet.

_("Let me hear it, Lars.")_

_("You are always so loud, a mouth like yours— needed just a bit of cock to shut you up?")_

_("I can drag it out of you, I know you want to.")_

_("Was that my name, kid?")_

And Lars isn’t a biter, okay?, it’s not his thing, but every time James said that, said—

_("You following, **kid**?")_

—he bit down, _hard_.

Looking right into his eyes and doing it, feeling James chuckling and shuddering, his grip getting tighter on his hair.

Either of them let go.

_(Either of them wanted the other to.)_

~

James was thinking about the third time while staring at his own kitchen counter.

Trying to think _breakfast_ , but ending up with _Lars, still laid on the bed_ , _fucked all the way into Sunday._

Fuck, he looked good in his sheets.

Not in the ‘hey, you would look _good_ between my sheets wink wink’ kinda way.

He just… _did_.

He just looked good in them because he felt good in them, like it was his place.

Like it was _his_ bed.

James poked his head and yep, framed by the door, here he was.

Lounging lazily, idly scrolling through his phone, Lars was laying naked on his back, one leg bent up and the other resting on the mattress –his foot swaying sluggishly.

His cock was in full view, soft.

That—

_(The absolute ease.)_

That irritated James

_(The open vulnerability.)_

**And _scared_ him.**

They met yesterday.

_(This doesn’t make any sense.)_

They just fucked three times and met yesterday.

_(Why there is even a ‘this’?)_

There was nothing special about it.

_(Why an almost 50 years old picking up a 20 something has to mean anything?)_

Then Lars opened his mouth, and he remembered.

"Mexican good for you?"

~

After James climbed back on the bed, after he drew near Lars –temple to temple— still naked and warm, and they scrolled down the Taco Bell menu.

After they placed the order, after Lars took too much time in the shower, after they paid and ate.

After, they were still talking.

~

"This is gonna be so good, I’m telling you, man."

"If you said so, kid."

Lars puts down the paper of James’ last pet project and gives him a bored look.

"Would you cut it with this _kid_ stuff?"

James smiles smugly and leans forward on the table.

"Are you telling me that a twenty-year-old with a _thing_ for older dudes doesn't have a daddy kink?"

Lars leans right back, not breaking the stare.

"Twenty-two. And maybe in Denmark it is not a thing; maybe – _maybe_ — **you** have a daddy kink, uh? How about that?"

Too concentrated on that cocky grin and on not losing the stare down, James doesn’t immediately connect the finger slowly caressing his arm with his tattoo.

_(His Papa Het tattoo.)_

He doesn’t winch or withdraw, but he can’t help but feel the anxiety bubbling up.

He laughs, nervously, and Lars is still looking at him, intently.

He must have sensed something because the finger becomes a palm _(warm, open)_ that slides down his arm, stopping only a moment on the wrist, tenderly.

Then it’s gone, and so is the topic.

"I am serious, James: this is good, we should do it."

"Be serious as you want, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never done this and either did you."

He shrugs and slacks against the back of the chair, hands moving in a nonchalant arc.

"So what? Fine, we don’t have immediate experience with short movie animation, but everyone has started like us, maybe I’ll finally use that damn Skillshare free trial. But this thing? Hit the lights? This has potential, man; and the other stuff? The one we basically built last night? The…"

He snaps his fingers, thinking, and James thinks of yesterday.

_(He thinks of vexing the barmaid for some pens, of storyboarding on napkins, of arguments, of Lars’ ponytail.)_

He clears his throat.

"Seek and Destroy?"

"YES!"

Lars points at him with his finger, eyes big and excited.

"We were on fire! I know you felt that too; and fine, _fine_ : those napkins obviously need some revision, but I’ll clean ‘em up when I’ll get ho—"

_(He kept the napkins.)_

_(He kept my random doodles on thorn soft paper.)_

"—ust me, I have experience in this area and I know a lot of people, I know when something is wor—"

"What do you want, Lars?"

And Lars stops; sobering up to just a faint jingle of bracelets, his hands come to rest on the table.

James has completely changed his stance in a second, now looking so closed off.

"I told you, I think—"

" _No_. What do you _honestly_ want? Is it the sex? You know you can have it without hammering me with words, right?"

Lars frowns, voice rising.

"Hey! That’s not—"

"Maybe a business partner then, someone to drag into your crazy ideas and not be bored?"

Lars scoffs, trying to cut into the monologuing, but James is relentless –his tone sharp, mocking, in a crescendo.

"Or just a partner? A _boyfriend_? Are you are so desperate for validation that even a friend will do, the older the better. Is it the daddy issue aft—"

" _ALL OF IT_."

That—

That stops him.

"All of fucking it. _All of fucking them_."

And James blinks because… this isn’t what he expected.

"I take them all, _you fucking dick_."

James looks at Lars’ crossed arms, his angry but resolute voice –confused.

"All… what?"

"All the options. The ones you listed, _fuckhead._ "

He blinks again, not understanding.

_All the…_

"And come with me for lunch and meet my goddamn father, so that I can finally convince you that my interest for your wrinkled cock it’s exclusive."

His anger, now vanished, leaves him… hollow, vulnerable.

"Fuck, you are such an _asshole_ ", Lars crosses his arms, snarling with frustration, "are you always like this when… what? You don’t trust someone? Was it a _test_?"

_The truth is that James doesn’t know._

_The truth is that he’s lost for words._

He minutely shakes his head and hears Lars sighing, his bracelets clinking for a moment.

(But he doesn’t look.)

"Listen, it’s really simple: I like you. That’s it! Here it is my master plan, _uhh, scary_!" he singsongs, sarcastic.

James can see Lars doing his version of jazz hands in the periphery of his vision, before he swings back to serious.

"Last night I saw you and thought ‘damn, that dude is hot’, then I got to talk to you and my mind went ‘hot and funny’ and _then_ I just couldn’t shut the fuck up because everything you said made my brain want to add something, to create, to— to—"

He huffs and shoves his hair aside, gesticulating even more, almost fervent in his annoyance for his inability of expressing what in his mind is so clear.

"I find you hot, funny, interesting and fucking _stimulating,_ and I can’t help but wanting to talk to you more and _build build build_."

Lars nudges at him with his foot, under the table, and James finally looks up –his expression guarded but crumbling.

"So, you were saying… what? Friend, business partner and fuckbuddy? Yeah, I take them all, please _and_ thank you."

James smirks against his better judgement.

"I think I said boyfriend, and also _daddy_."

Lars rolls his eyes but there is no resentment there, no hungs up.

"I just wanted to give you my number, man. You wanna hang out and that’s it? good; wanna also keep working on napkins? great!; wanna scratch an itch and that’s it? fine by me."

_(The most beautiful thing is that it’s really that easy for him.)_

James simply nods.

"But you want all three?"

Lars makes a dismissive noise.

"Yeah, but it’s up to you. Honestly, I _really_ wanna hang with you, be friends. The rest is extra."

"So you kept crumpled napkins just as an… extra?"

He stills and tries to shrug nonchalantly.

James grins.

 _Gotcha_.

"Oh fuck off, English is not my first language; wanna hear my response in Danish? _Uh_?"

James bursts out laughing, while Lars keeps _‘uh? UH???’_ at him in a deliberately overdramatic manner.

"God forbid, no!", he chuckles, "you already don’t shut up now, I can’t imagine—", he shakes his head, amused, "let’s say that I have a hunch that, if I let you speak Danish to me now, the first words I’m gonna learn will not be for polite company."

Lars’ smile becomes big –his eyes painted with mischief and trouble.

(But the trouble is for others, the outsiders, the ones outside this bubble that Lars’ attention creates when it settles on a person; James feels it, the kinship, the granted assumption that their shared force is gonna conquer the world.)

"Maybe", Lars teases and waits, waits for James –watching closely, ready to pick up and send back everything that he can throw at him.

James never had anything like that – _anyone_.

He takes a deep breath and feels all the thunderous possibilities in his chest, excited.

"You never back down from a challenge, do you?"

Lars’ eyes twinkle again.

"As much as you do."

~

Lars punches his number in and gives the phone back.

"You sure you don’t wanna come and have lunch with me and my dad?"

_How to quickly create a nightmare of anxiety._

James laughs his nervous laugh and pockets the phone.

"No way, thanks. And in what capacity, anyway?"

Lars swings the door open and then turns around, waddling from one foot to the other, in a sloppy dance move that takes him just outside the threshold.

Here he is again, framed by another door –dressed this time, but still magnetic.

"Your choice."

His hands are tucked in his jeans’ back pockets, so it’s the easy line of his shoulders that talks for him, shrugging.

"Let me know what you decided", and it’s when Lars’ head tilts a bit towards where James’ phone is that he realizes that they were just holding gaze again.

"You lead, I follow."

His tone is sweet and sincere, but James can’t help but laugh.

"You’ve never followed _shit_ once in your life."

The insane, lunatic giggle that he gets back almost makes him consider a goodbye kiss.

~

It was shortly after lunch when Jerry’s phone buzzed.

It was a message from Lars, a voice message.

Not an unusual occurrence, but this one was short.

_Jerry, I found it._

_I fucking found—_

_Ah, my father is stretching in front of the fucking restaurant. Can you believe it? He can stretch everywhere, every situation is stretch-worthy! I fucking swear. _

_Here he is, in front of thousand people— minding their business! Here he is, elongating his calves without a care in the world! And who cares about that, let’s care about why do you need stretching before lunch, uh???_

_Fuck, what was I saying?_

_I— oh, whatever, shit, I can’t talk to you about this while I watch him doing that in the middle of the street. _

_Talk to you ‘home, yeah? C’ya!_

Well, short for his standards.

~

The rest of the day passes easily, just house chores and tweaking projects due Monday.

Mindless, quiet tasks.

And if before bed James showers thinking about that morning, about his hand gripping Lars’ knee still while they fucked laid on the side, Lars effortlessly increasing the tempo, hiccupping for air while his cock bounced and fucked thin air… who can blame him?

_Ah, to be twenty-two and come even without a stroke._

_(To be forty-eight and feeling smug about it.)_

But that’s not what James dreams about, that night.

He could have –there is _a lot_ of material— but he doesn’t.

It would have been understandable; he would have understood and shrugged it off.

Instead, he dreams of a car.

~

It goes like this: he and Lars are in a car, up front; James is driving, Lars is shotgun.

James is going fast, it’s a racing car, a rally in the middle of nowhere, they are flashing through the familiar California desert.

They have helmets, gear, total black suits, and Lars is holding a map and talking through the microphone.

They have microphones, like professionals; also sunglasses, like badasses.

Lars is reading the map and designing it at the same time, changing it with their decisions.

There are no rules, there is no route.

James frowns for a moment, questioning this.

 _There is no roadmap to your life,_ Lars says.

And it almost feels like they are both driving, both steering the car, both mapping and drawing.

 _There isn’t enough space for four hands on the wheel,_ James thinks.

But in the dream, there is.

He wakes up.

~

The door shuts loudly.

" **JERRY!!** "

Lars hollers, like they are living in a mansion and not in a glorified garage.

" **LARS!!** "

He shouts back, because they are friends for a reason, after all.

Then he waits, turning lazily on his swivel chair, listening to Lars’ quick steps.

He pops in the room, giddy and smug.

"Jerry, my friend: I fucking found it."

Jerry, after the mysterious –and a bit rambling— message, has done some calculation, so he doesn’t skip a bit and replies

"The love of your life?"

Lars’ face scrunches up.

"What? No."

The other arches an eyebrow and observes his friend crushing down on his bed and starting to flip off his shoes.

"So, you didn’t score the dilf?"

He watches the shoes fly through the room and collide with the wall.

Lars is smirking.

"Three times."

Jerry rolls the chair near so they can fist-bump.

"So, no soulmate?", he jokes, sarcastically.

(They really are friends for a reason.)

And Lars shrugs.

"Uh, I don’t know? ‘Don’t really believe in that, I just—"

He is laying down on Jerry’s bed –dirty socks on unmade sheets— like there is nowhere else he could ever be in the entire world.

His hands are under his head –he seems quieter than usual, talking only with his voice.

"I just know that I found it."

"Found what?"

Lars keeps looking at the ceiling, pensive.

Then he shrugs and frees his hands, starting to draw nothing in the air.

"It’s just a sensation, you know?, I found _it_ ; I don’t even know what, but I know."

Then his head turns and his eyes lock with Jerry’s.

"And it feels _right_."

~

_If I'd met you 20 years ago_.

That’s what his brain keeps cycle back to.

 _You would have been a baby and, thank god, mostly silent and Danish_.

His brain also supplies, because irony has always been a copy mechanism of his.

But the true reasoning is another, a more insidious one.

_If I met you 20 years ago, I wouldn’t have believed you._

Because it implies that now he does.

_If I met you 20 years ago, I wouldn’t have had the instruments to perceive this._

Because it forces him to admit there is something.

_If I met you 20 years ago, I could have denied that what we did was anything special._

But it is.

The problem is that _it is_ special, and James _knows it_.

He knows it and keeps looking at his napkin –full of ink— on his kitchen counter –full of crumbles.

_(Send it.)_

He’s gonna be late.

_(Send it.)_

He ate and sketched at the same time, making a damn mess, to make it on time.

_(Send it.)_

To have it done before work, before he could pussy out, before he forgot the visual.

_(Send the fucking thing, you disgusting, miserable piece of—)_

He puts the phone down and breathes –breathes, breathes.

He clenches his teeth and chooses randomly one of the photos he made of the napkin—

_(Lars’ hair sticky on his neck) (James’ helmet design incorporating his spiky hair)_

_(the dashboard) (four sketched outstretched arms)_

_(no hands, no stirring wheels) (two easy, knowing grins)_

—and sends it

~

He adds

**_I’ll jump_ **

And then

**_let’s see where we gonna land_ **

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I cant write smut to save my life... but I did it anyway. Why? Because I'm a soft bitch and when I read the prompt my mind didn't go to the gutter but to the "wait, that means they didn't meet back then, they didn't grow old together, they didn't include each other in their dream"-- and I was torn open by the thought alone. So, no, I /HAD TO/ write their encounter and I had to tell the universe that, yes, even there, even in this circumstances, they would find each other and cherish each other and be the poweful duo that we know and love.  
> *violins playing in the background*  
> So, yeah, my mind run and did too much worldbuilding, and now I plotted all this and more: I know how Metallica forms in this AU, how they get together, what's James past, what's Lars future, how they're gonna conquer the world, how they have ALL THREE METALLICA BASSIST ALIVE AND KICKING AND BADASSING while working with them (bc fuck you, this is the world where Cliff gets to get an amazing streak of silver hair in his red mane, he gets to use spotify and youtube and his recomandation section is WILD).  
> Will I ever write all of this? Nope. Too lazy, lol. But trust me, they are happy and having fun!
> 
> Last note: if you enjoyed this, please consider going to rockfic site and read the other fics written for the challange!


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